


Someone Like Me

by ghostgarden



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, rating might change as this goes on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostgarden/pseuds/ghostgarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wears a cloak of thorns, and yet Corrin doesn't mind the pinpricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I've had this sitting unfinished in my drive for the longest time... I thought I'd try to kickstart it into a story. I love Shura so much, and I thought that it would be nice to help expand his tag a little! I want to write a few more chapters of this story soon. I hope you all enjoy! Hoping it's alright... I wrote this on a sleepless Friday night.

If someone so much as lifted their hand a little too quickly, Shura would flinch. He could feel the sinews tighten in his calloused hand, dirty fingernails curling into a fist that whitened with tension. Years spent with less than savory company had taught him that whoever reacted fastest was the survivor, and this concept had adopted itself into Shura’s mind as a rule of life. Whoever could draw a throwing dagger fastest usually had the upper hand. Whoever could reach for a fresh arrow first usually made the killing shot. Whoever could jump to their feet fastest usually got away.

Of course, if he were to be too slow and die, it wasn’t as if the world was going to suffer a loss, anyways.

Even still, after spending a good month or so in Corrin’s ragtag army of do-gooders, Shura couldn’t help but shake the lingering feeling that he was being hunted. There was no doubt in his mind that at least one of Corrin’s followers knew exactly what kind of animal he was, what he was capable of, and what he had done. Shura had blood on his hands, and even if he spent a lifetime scrubbing it away until his skin was raw and blistered, it would never be enough to repent in his heart.

A sudden hand on his shoulder would induce a full-body quiver. Reaching for one’s weapon out of the blue made his fingers fumble for his bow. A pat on the back for a job well done resulted in a gasp, followed by unsettling laughter that attempted to cover the sickening roll of his stomach.

He was an enigma to himself. For someone as defensive as he was, he figured that death would be the only retribution for his sins. In the past, he had reasoned that it would be best to let down his thorny exterior to allow someone to get the dirty work done for him.

What in the world did Corrin see in a person like him, anyways? On the fateful day of their encounter, completely at the mercy of her sword, why didn’t she just kill him? It was true that he had mumbled that he preferred to live, but only if it was for the sake of rebuilding Kohga.

But he was just one man— a dirty one, a tainted one, and he was ashamed.

 

Strangely enough, Corrin seemed to be interested— fascinated, even— by him, despite their rather hostile first meeting. During the last few war meetings after he had arrived, Shura had felt a pair of eyes upon him, seemingly boring through his skull as if trying to read whatever thoughts were tucked away there. Turning his head ever so slightly to the side, he was greeted with a piercing red gaze that quickly darted away.

The following meeting was no different; again he could sense Corrin’s ever-probing gaze upon his face, its intensity prompting him to swallow nervously. Her pencil rested against lips parted ever so slightly in thought, her eyes glazed as she studied him. He drew in a deep breath to steel himself before turning his face towards her, face darkening defensively as if he were a dog with its hackles raised. This had been sufficient to shake Corrin from her clouded headspace, and he watched her tense in embarrassment before turning back to her notes without another glance. Her gaze made him nervous, as if there was a target painted in the center of his forehead, and she was analyzing how to make the perfect shot.

These occurrences of uncomfortable eye contact became increasingly frequent, only heightening the anxiety that had begun to culminate in Shura’s stomach. He drew in on himself, migrating away from his usual spot at a frequently unoccupied mess hall table to a dusty stairway in the building that neighbored it. To his knowledge, nobody had noticed his absence… he wasn’t very impressionable, anyways.

At least, that was what he was hoping. From his perch, his ears perked suddenly at the sound of the rickety wooden door nudging open at the foot of the stairway.

“Shura…?”

Damn.

Eyes flitting up from his tiny ceramic bowl of roasted beans, they came to rest on the form of Corrin standing perplexed in the doorway. She clutched several thick leather-bound books to her chest, the corners weathered and page ends visibly yellowed.

“Why are you eating in the Records Hall?”

He swallowed, looking down first at his calloused fingers covered in bean juice (he had forgotten a fork in his haste to get in and get out), then back to Corrin who had entered the room and had begun to ascend the stairs.

Clutching the books to her chest, a free hand went to her hip obscured by her cape as she continued towards him.

A dagger? Surely it had to be a dagger. Shura bit his lip as a wave of cold washed over him, unsure of what to do or say. The tiny hairs prickled on the back of his neck…

And settled as she procured an off-white handkerchief instead.

“When did you start eating in here?”

She stopped at his feet before awkwardly squatting next to him, resting the books she was carrying against the stair beneath her feet. As she presented the handkerchief to him, he took it gingerly, as if waiting for her to grab his wrist.

“I… just a few days ago.”

He wiped his hands, muttering a barely audible “thanks” before resting the tiny cloth on his knee.

“You didn’t strike me as the kind to be into books.”

The statement threw him for a loop at how random it was, and he found himself blinking in bemusement. He looked up from his dish and locked eyes with her, asking rather gruffly, “What do you mean by that… my lady?”

Corrin proved to be full of surprises. The tips of her ears poking out from her hair turned pink in humiliation, and she stammered, “W-wait, that was rude of me, I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking…”

Was this the same Corrin that had held him at knifepoint? The same Corrin that had stared him down intimidatingly at the war meetings?

She took a deep breath and gathered her bearings, lips turned upwards into a wobbly, sheepish smile. “I meant that, ah… you just didn’t seem like the type to want to read about history and lore…” Her hands paused mid-gesture before reaching for one of the books that sat below her. “We’re in the Records Hall, after all. Do you like to read? Is that why you come here? Or…”

While increasingly perplexed at the casualness she displayed with him, Shura felt himself relax. He set his bowl of beans off to the side, suddenly self-conscious about eating with his hands.

“I’m not one to sit around reading old texts or fables.” At least, he hadn’t had the itch to in a long time.

“I’m in here because it’s quiet, and…”

_Nobody will find me if I’m here._

“I just wanted time to myself.”

Corrin rested the book on her lap, sweeping her fingertips across the deep crimson leather of the cover. “I see… I’m here to return some books I borrowed.” Lithe fingers thumbed between the pages, and she absentmindedly opened it to a section on archery. “This Records Hall has a few books on Hoshidan battle techniques and little stories, and I thought it might be wise to, you know… just give it a once-over.” She smiled to herself, fingernail tracing an ink drawing of an archer with a drawn yumi. “Never hurts to learn a little about the unknown, right?”

He nodded wordlessly, shrugging his shoulders as if to emphasize.

Several uncomfortable moments passed as the two sat in silence, before Corrin cleared her throat again to speak.

“I know you want peace and quiet here— believe me, I’m surrounded by soldiers and retainers every waking hour… but,” She shifted her body to face him, hands knitting together in her lap. “...I wouldn’t mind your company, and truthfully, I just want to talk to you.”

He raised his eyebrows at this statement, shifting uncomfortably in his spot. “You want to talk to someone like me?” _Someone like me…_ The words rolled off his tongue in a sort of sardonic disdain.

Corrin nodded. “I mean, I don’t have a reason not to, right? We haven’t really spoken since we met, and we left things on, oh…” She offered yet another sheepish grin, accompanied with an awkward rub at her neck. “Kind of uncomfortable terms, don’t you think?”

He found the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, hiding the ghost of a bitter smile.

“You’re wasting your time, but I appreciate your sentiment, I guess.” He leaned back against the creaking stair behind him, not bothering to meet her eyes. “Associating with me is asking for trouble. There’s no question in my mind that some of your men have gathered enough intel on me to know that I’m no angel.”

Corrin didn’t give him a chance to continue. “No, no… I highly doubt that’s the case. You’re a part of our cause, and your contributions will be just as valuable as any other person’s here.” Her voice reverberated around the staircase, and as Shura dared to sneak a glance at her, he saw before him the sure and steady leader from their first meeting once again.

“Lady Corrin…”

“At the end of the day, these are soldiers who are to answer to my family, and to me. They’ve got no place harassing my men when we’re all fighting for the same ultimate goal.” She nodded as if ensuring herself of her own words.

“I trust you, Shura— I wouldn’t have taken you with me if I wasn’t confident in that, you know?” Without thinking, she reached out and brushed his lower arm, a friendly gesture that sent a cascade of pin pricks up his arm. He flinched, but willed himself to stay steady.

Noticing his apparent discomfort, she quickly withdrew her hand, but kept her tone firm yet somewhat gentle. It was noticeably warm, almost motherly.

“You can only gather so much about a person by trying to watch them, studying their face… but I want to know more. So…” Corrin rose to her feet slowly, picking up the worn red book with her. “...I’ll leave a spot open for you at my table at the Mess Hall tomorrow, yeah? I’ll probably be sitting with Elise and Jakob, so keep your eye out.” She shuffled past him, ascending the stairs to the moderately-sized library on the second floor.

Shura sighed and reached for his bowl of beans again, before pausing. Corrin had forgotten her other book, a dark green one that sat below where she had previously just been.

“Wait, Lady Corrin!” Her head whipped around expectantly, as if awaiting a reply to her previous offer.

“You forgot your book, here.” He held it up and waved it, to which she answered with a raised shoulder and a cordial grin.

“Oh, well… why don’t you take it, Shura? I know you said you weren’t one for books, but that one had some interesting stories in it from both Hoshido and Nohr.” He opened his mouth in protest, but she had already turned around, her figure disappearing through a walkway that couldn’t be seen from his current sitting place.

Once again he was alone, and her absence heightened his awareness of the fact that he was, really and truly. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle, Shura found that his thoughts didn’t make much for good company. The usual static funk in his mind had dissipated to remind him that he hadn’t taken part in genuine conversation in quite some time.

A part of him felt strangely hollow, as if he could eat and eat, telling himself he was better off forgotten, and yet it wouldn’t be enough to satiate his hunger pangs.

Shura truly was an enigma to himself, and he hated it.

 


End file.
